Meddling
by The Girl Who Flys
Summary: Molly's taste in men has never been that great. Lucky for her, Sherlock can always spot what's wrong before she does.
1. Harold Quincy

**Expanding on Sherlock's knack for meddling in Molly's attempts at romance.**

* * *

The first time that Sherlock had shattered her illusion of what she thought was a potential boyfriend had been nearly six months after she had started working at Bart's. She may have been young and fresh out of medical school, but she was quickly becoming the favoured pathologist at Bart's. Not only with people such as Mike Stamford, but also with the police. Her first week of work was mainly assisting a curmudgeonly and somewhat misogynistic old man named Doctor Ormond Sacker. Molly suspected some sort of heart condition plagued the old doctor with how out of breath he became simply pacing around an autopsy table. He also wore a permanent frown on his face that only became more pronounced whenever Molly was around. Things changed drastically when she first met Sherlock Holmes.

Mike Stamford came into the mortuary one day followed closely by two-rather handsome in Molly's opinion-men. The first one seemed to be going gray a little prematurely and she noticed a gun concealed at his waist underneath his jacket; maybe he was with the police. The second man's hair was dark and curly. There didn't seem to be a gun on him, though: one policeman, one civilian. "Ah, Mike," Doctor Sacker greeted, "nice to finally have some _men _around here. Doctor Ormond Sacker." He held out his hand to the first man who frowned and glanced over at Molly. Reluctantly he shook his hand.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade," he said slowly and quickly dropped the older man's hand. Doctor Sacker held out his hand to the second man. "And you are?" he asked. The second man kept his hands in his coat pockets and glared wordlessly at the man. The elder doctor got the hint and dropped his hand back to his side. "The body's just over here and I have a copy of the autopsy report as well."

"Who's your colleague?" DI Lestrade asked. Doctor Sacker scoffed.

"Just ignore her. That's how I deal with her."

Molly sighed and closed her eyes. Was it just a little bit sad and pathetic that she was becoming numb to such treatment now? Yes, yes it was.

"How rude of me," Mike said, sounding a little angry at Doctor Sacker's words, "Lestrade, this is Doctor Molly Hooper. She just started here a week ago." Molly shook Lestrade's hand and was just about to inquire the name of the silent companion when Doctor Sacker cleared his throat.

"Detective Inspector? The body?" The three men joined the doctor around the autopsy table with Molly close behind. "I know you suspected foul play, but there's nothing to suggest that here. The poor fellow just had a lung condition that went unchecked for too long. He was a ticking time bomb." Molly frowned. That wasn't right. She _knew _that wasn't right but Doctor Sacker would sooner attempt a marathon than listen to her. She caught the dark haired man looking at her but he quickly turned his head away, scowling and typing furiously away on his phone. Molly instantly became self-conscious. Had she done something wrong?

"What do you think?" Lestrade said to his companion. The dark haired man glanced at him, then back to the body.

"I want a second opinion," he finally said. His voice was incredibly deep compared to the Detective Inspector's. It sounded like someone had thrown Alan Rickman's voice into a blender with a touch of Jeremy Irons. Not a bad combination at all.

Doctor Sacker looked offended. "I am the most accomplished pathologist Bart's has ever seen! A second opinion isn't-"

"You are a lazy and incompetent old fool. Your eyesight is going judging by the fact that you're still squinting even with your glasses and you'll most likely be completely blind within the next twenty years but judging by the stench around you, you're well on your way to an assisted living facility so you'll have people to take care of you when that happens. Then again, you probably won't live long enough to _see _that day," here, the dark haired man gave a small chuckle at his own joke, "You have an unchecked heart condition. You're overweight, you move at a slow shuffle, and you are still out of breath from walking over to this autopsy table not to mention your face is about as red as a tomato. If you keep on with your current diet and lack of exercise regime, you'll have a heart attack within the next five years. Because of how easily you tire, you've been doing a slapdash job on your autopsies so you can go home early. Doctor Hooper here knows this judging by her surprise that I'm so right about you. Yes, Doctor Molly Hooper has only been working here a week but she has seen your work and she has seen you get many things wrong but you have ignored any evidence she has brought up to contradict your findings. Is it because of pride? Yes, one would think so. I can tell from your posture that you are the kind of man that hates being proven wrong but it's not just pride. No, you hold on to the archaic ideas of men being superior to women. You don't think women belong in pathology, that they're not smart enough, and you are openly hostile to Doctor Molly Hooper because you know she's much better at this than you are and infinitely more intelligent than and you perceive her as a threat. Now kindly shut up while I get my second opinion." The dark haired man turned his head to her.

"Doctor Hooper? Proceed."

Molly was stunned into silence for several long moments before she tentatively stepped forward. "There is nothing wrong with the deceased's lungs. He didn't smoke and he certainly didn't have a lung condition that went unnoticed. This man died from asphyxiation. He passed out and choked on his own vomit-his clothes were covered in it. There's some corrosive damage in the esophagus, lungs, and numerous other organs. My first thoughts were acid reflux, perhaps caused by an unhealthy diet, but when I examined his stomach contents one evening-"

"You did what?!" Doctor Sacker exploded. "You incompetent b-!"

"I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you," the dark haired man warned menacingly. "Do not interrupt Doctor Hooper again. The stomach contents: what did you find?"

"I suspect he was a vegan," Molly continued. "I found no meat products or animal byproducts. The last thing he ate was tofu and a salad washed down with a glass of soy milk. I suspect death by poisoning but I am not allowed access to the blood samples taken from the body so I haven't been able to do any tests."

Mike, Lestrade, and the unnamed dark-haired man all stared down Doctor Sacker who was looking very uncomfortable under their gazes. "Alright!" he growled. "I'll get a sample of blood and you two can come with me down to the lab-"

"No," cut in the dark-haired man. "I've already told you: you are lazy and incompetent. I don't like working with lazy and incompetent people. You will give Doctor Hooper the blood sample and _she _will run the tests."

That was how Molly Hooper found herself walking down to the lab with a blood sample in hand, the detective inspector and unnamed man walking on either side of her. "I never liked that old bastard," Lestrade commented. "I'll be lodging a complaint against him." Molly smiled gratefully up at the Detective Inspector before looking at his companion.

"I've wanted to tell him off since the first day of work," she admitted to him. "Thanks! What's your name, by the way?"

His mouth quirked upward into a small smile for just a second before he answered her with "Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

That was how they met. Doctor Sacker resigned the very next day and Molly only felt just a little guilty that she was so happy at his departure. Lestrade and Sherlock came in every so often to look at a body from a case that Scotland Yard was working on and sometimes Sherlock would come in just by himself to run some tests in the lab. He was always very quiet and only liked chatting when he became excited or frustrated by a result.

It was nearly six months to the day that she had started working at Bart's and she had a date. Harold Quincy was a very nice and successful banker that had approached her while she was reading the _Brothers Karamazov _in a coffee shop and complimented her on her excellent taste in literature. The two chatted for over an hour and she ended up with his number and an invitation to dinner that Friday evening. She had grabbed her coat and handbag and was just about to head out when she froze in surprise. Sherlock always appeared at random times and always when she least expected him to. He hadn't been into Bart's for a week.

"Hello, Sherlock," she greeted. He looked up from the microscope and turned his head toward her.

"Doctor Hooper. You're leaving an hour earlier than usual. Then again, you do want plenty of time to prepare for your date." Molly sighed, not even bothering to ask how he knew that. She had gotten used to his deductions these past six months. "Someone from the hospital, I would suspect, but then again, there's always _one _thing I tend to miss."

"I met him the other day when I was out for coffee," Molly told him. "He's a successful banker named Harold Quincy and he's taking me to a very lovely restaurant. I'll see you later, Sherlock." She was almost to the door when he spoke again.

"Harold Quincy?" he repeated. Molly turned to look at him.

"Yes. Do you know him?" she asked. Sherlock seemed to think about it for several long moments before shaking his head.

"No, sorry," he said. "I must be thinking of someone else." Molly thought nothing more of her conversation with Sherlock as she got ready for her dinner. She tried to keep it simple with a black dress and her hair in a bun but before she realized what she had done, she was at the restaurant with a pair of bright red heels and matching lipstick. Well, so much for simple. Harold met her outside the restaurant and escorted her by the arm to their table. He took her coat, he pulled out her chair, he ordered the two of them some champagne. The evening was looking like it would be the start of something special.

At least, it _was _looking like that until Detective Inspector Lestrade got up from a nearby table and started walking toward them. In fact, several tables seemed to be abandoning their dinners and headed for them. Even a waiter had joined the crowd. Two restaurant patrons grabbed Harold from behind and he immediately panicked and started trying to struggle and get away.

"Quincy Herald," Lestrade said, "you are under arrest for fraud, armed robbery, and for the murder of Mary Sinclair. And by the way, switching your name around is without a doubt the _worst _attempt at disguise I have ever seen in my years with Scotland Yard."

Molly's jaw must have hit the floor. "But-I don't…this is…_murder_, why-how-" Harold-or whatever his name was-was too busy kicking and screaming whilst being dragged away to notice Molly. It finally clicked as a black woman started patting her shoulder reassuringly that every one of these people surrounding the table were with the police.

"Sorry about that," she said. "We can question you outside, if you'd like; away from all these people."

Molly felt like she was trembling all over. "I was on a date with a _murderer,_" Molly whispered in horror. "Oh, my God! I probably did the autopsy on the body! I could have been the next one on that metal slab! Please don't tell me it was the one where the skin was completely peeled off!"

The woman shook her head and pulled out her radio. "Yeah, I'm going to need a shock blanket for Doctor Hooper before we bring her outside." Detective Inspector Lestrade was being very kind and patient while he questioned her and the woman-who she learned was named Sally Donovan-patted her shoulder reassuringly every so often. It was when she spotted Sherlock approaching them that everything clicked. There had been a reason he questioned the name and there had been a reason that the police knew _exactly _where to be. Sherlock, being Sherlock, had known everything and didn't bother to clue her in.

"Everything went as planned, I take it?" Sherlock asked.

Lestrade nodded. "Yes, it did. We have him in custody and we're just finishing up questioning Molly here."

"I'll take over that," Sherlock offered. "Then you can escort her back to her flat." Lestrade didn't argue and walked away. Sally gave Sherlock a somewhat flirtatious smile before she followed the Detective Inspector.

"You let me go on a date with a _murderer!"_ Molly hissed. "You recognized the name, you knew who he was, and you didn't say anything!"

"If I had said something you wouldn't have gone on the date," Sherlock explained. "This man, as stupid as he is, is very good at escaping when he needs to. Had you not showed up on the date and not made him let his guard down, he would not have been arrested tonight and he would quite possibly murder again. Your assistance was needed."

Molly, who very rarely got angry, was feeling properly infuriated at the moment. "I didn't want to _assist, _I-look, Sherlock…you helped catch the bad guy again and that's all well and good, but I did _not _want to go out on a date with a murderer! If you had even the smallest inkling that my date was a felon, then you should have _told me. _It's horrible, and scary, and I will never be able to show my face in that restaurant again! ("A little overdramatic, don't you think?" interjected Sherlock) Just do me one favour: next time there is something horribly wrong with my date just tell me and don't let me find out in a public spectacle like this. Whether he's married, or a murderer, or part of a satanic cult, I'd rather know before the police come barging in."

Sherlock seemed to take in her words and think about them. "Fair enough. I promise that if there is anything horribly wrong with any potential romantic partners I will let you know in the early stages of the relationship so that you can break it off early before you get yourself too entangled. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go tell Lestrade that you're ready to be taken home. Good night, Doctor Hooper."

"Sherlock?" she called out. He turned around, looking slightly annoyed. "We've known each other for six months now and you're in my lab and mortuary more often than not. You can call me Molly."

Sherlock nodded. "Right. Good night, Molly."

And that was how Sherlock Holmes got permission to figuratively rip apart all of Molly's subsequent potential romantic partners.

* * *

**If any of you can guess where the name Ormond Sacker comes from, I'll mention you when I post the next chapter. I actually didn't intend to have that part of the chapter go on for so long, but I got carried away. This takes place a few years before the series starts. Molly is around 27 or 28 and Sherlock is about 31. Molly hasn't exactly formed romantic feelings for him yet and Donovan doesn't know Sherlock all too well yet which is why she is a bit flirty around him.**

**Anyway, what kind of date or boyfriend should Sherlock save Molly from next time? Let me know your ideas.**


	2. Benicio Cortez

**Congrats to and kay. riggins **IAmWhoLocked **for correctly guessing that Ormond Scaker was the original name for John Watson in the early drafts. MorbidbyDefault, I have not read that story yet, but I will take your word for it. Lono gave me the idea for this one, so thanks! And thanks for all of the reviews!**

* * *

It had been on a train on the way back from visiting her brother that she met Benicio Cortez. It had been after her experience with him that she decided that she should never go on a date with a man she met on a train ever again. She had quietly been gazing out the window at the rolling countryside when he approached her. His wavy light brown hair that hung just slightly in his eyes gave Molly the overwhelming urge to reach up and run her hands through it. His eyes were possibly the most vivid green she had ever seen and then there was that smile! Oh! That smile of perfectly white teeth that made her want to melt right then and there.

"Excuse me, señorita," he said with a rather thick foreign accent "Forgive me, but I would not have been able to forgive myself if I had not come up and told you that you are perhaps the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on." It was official: this was all some beautiful dream. She'd wake up any moment.

Instead of waking up, she spent the remainder of the journey talking in depth with this handsome stranger. He was originally from Argentina and was beginning to start a new life in London. He could have been a professional football player but a back injury put him out of commission and he hasn't been able to play ever since. She told him all about herself as well: her father was dead, her mother recently remarried, she was a pathologist, and she was most definitely single and had _no _plans that evening.

Molly hurried home from the station and hurriedly began prepping for her date. She hoped it would turn out well. She had been on several dates since the Harold Quincy incident but they had all turned out to be duds and she never made it to a second date with them. The only thing good was that none of them were murderers…she hoped. Benicio was different, though. She felt it deep in her bones. He _had _to be. It's not that Molly was looking for a husband, no, that was far from the case. But it would be nice if she had _someone_ special and consistent in her life.

Molly was just locking up her flat behind her when her phone rang in her handbag. She frowned at the display, not recognizing the number before answering. "Hello?"

"A man's alibi depends on an experiment," Sherlock said from the other end of the line. "I need access to either an arm or some fingers, preferably from a female. Do you have any of those?"

"How did you get my number, Sherlock?" Molly asked, bewildered. She heard Sherlock scoff into the receiver.

"That is irrelevant. Now, Molly, the fingers?"

Molly rolled her eyes in annoyance. "I can't help you right now, Sherlock. I'm going on a date."

"Met someone on the train, did you?"

"I'm not going to even bother asking how you knew that. But I _do _want to know how you got this number."

"I do recall telling you that it was irrelevant. Now, about the fingers-"

"My date's name is Benicio Cortez. He's not another wanted felon, is he?"

Sherlock huffed, clearly annoyed. "No, he is not. But you can skip the date so I can get those fingers. He won't mind."

Molly was beginning to lose her patience. "Either wait until I'm done with my date or talk to Mike!" Without another word, she hung up on him and headed out to meet up with Benicio. She had had a feeling that he would be different and she was right: he _was _different. Although, not in a _good _way.

It had all started out innocently enough with comments like "I can't believe you do not have a husband yet with your intelligence and beauty." However the comments quickly degenerated.

"Why have you not married yet, at your age?"

"If you do not marry soon, you will become old and alone with twenty cats!"

"Good women know to get married while there's still a man out there that are willing to take them! Then all they have to worry about is raising the man's babies."

Not even an hour later, Molly made her excuses and went to Bart's. At least it was just a short walk away. It gave her time to mentally kick herself for going out on a date with that pig. Sherlock was sitting on an autopsy table, typing furiously away on his phone when Molly walked in, donning her lab coat.

"I didn't realize dates were so short," he commented without looking up from his phone.

"Well, this one was," Molly said, annoyed. "Of all the low-life, pig-headed, _worthless-_"

"Molly, please do not mistake me for one of your girlfriends that you complain about men to over the phone," Sherlock interrupted. "I don't care about your romantic escapades except for when they interfere with my work."

She had almost forgotten that Sherlock was not the biggest fan of conversing with others. Time to change to a different topic. "A fifty-two year old woman donated her body. Will those hands do?" Sherlock finally looked up from his phone, his expression brightening.

"They'll be perfect!" he smiled. Others would find Sherlock's excitement over a dead body rather distasteful, but Molly understood it, being a pathologist. She nodded and was about to go to the sink to clean her hands with the doors to the mortuary opened and in walked Benicio with a big bouquet of roses. Oh, dear.

"What are you doing here?" Molly asked. She could hear her voice shaking. "And how did you know where I worked?"

"I followed you after you left!" Benicio said, looking very proud of himself for doing so. Molly's hand went to her lab coat pocket, intent on calling Lestrade if need be. The security in this hospital was obviously lacking. Sherlock looked as if he had barely noticed the intrusion and was still furiously typing away at his phone. Fat load of good _he _was.

"Not only is following me without my knowledge not right, but I do recall telling you that I didn't think we were a good match and that we shouldn't go out again."

"Ah, but, Molly," he said, moving closer. Molly moved back further away from him. "I know you did not mean that. That is why I got you these flowers, so you would be reminded of the love that has blossomed between us."

Molly was feeling rather uncomfortable now. "I don't think that's the case here."

"And so you may be reminded of our love every day, I ask you now, Molly Hooper," here, Benicio dropped to one knee, "to be my wife."

When Molly imagined being proposed to, she imagined it would be after a long period of dating: she'd be in a nice dress, he'd be in a suit, and it would be intimate and romantic and private. An insane man who had insulted her for not being married for most of their first date and then proposed in the middle of the mortuary with bloody _Sherlock Holmes_ watching did not fit her imaginings. "I'm going to have to decline your…_generous _offer, Benicio. Sorry."

Benicio looked genuinely shocked. "But…you love me!"

"No I do _not! _I never said such a thing. And I certainly wouldn't say it on a first date." Molly could feel her face turning hot.

"Okay, we will go on a second date and then you will love me and marry me, yes?"

"No! No I will not! You need to leave here immediately."

Benicio was still looking up at her expectantly. "Just give my five good reasons why the two of us cannot be joined in marriage, my heart, and I will leave you."

"First of all," Molly began, trying not to lose her nerves, "I hardly know anything about you. Secondly, what I _do _know about you does not make me eager to marry. Thirdly, you spent the entirety of our date insulting me and suggesting that there was something wrong with me not being married yet, even though I hear _plenty _of that from my mother already. Fourth, if you do not leave I will call the police. Don't believe me? I have several of them in my contact list and they'll be over here to take you away in no time. And lastly-"

"She does not date men who are seeking a way to avoid deportation back to their home country," Sherlock interrupted. It seemed as if for the first time, Benicio noticed that there was another man in the room. He stood back up and glared at Sherlock.

"Who the hell is this?"Benicio yelled with such fury that Molly quickly scampered to the other side of the autopsy table, partially hidden by Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't even deign to give Benicio a glance as he still typed away on his mobile. "Sherlock Holmes: Consulting Detective. Not to mention, very annoyed at having my work delayed; especially by someone reeking of desperation." He smirked. "Despite your attempts at cover up, you have been found out. The Argentinean government is looking for you and would very much like to see you behind bars. They don't know where you are at the moment, but that will soon change." As if on cue several men with full body armour and machine guns burst into the mortuary all yelling in English and Spanish at Benicio. Benicio, to his credit, did not struggle. He dropped the flowers and put his hands in the air, defeated.

"I thought you said he _wasn't _a wanted felon!" Molly hissed as Benicio was forcibly cuffed. Sherlock finally pocketed his phone.

"I thought he wasn't either. But I did some extensive internet research and found out that he is a wanted man in Argentina as the mastermind behind several major bank robberies. Some of his cohorts have finally given him up. His days before he was found out were numbered and he thought that by marrying a citizen he would be protected from deportation. Stupid plan"

"Who are they?" Molly asked, indicating the heavily armoured men. "They aren't with the police."

"No, they aren't" Sherlock agreed, hopping off the autopsy table. "I have friends in high places." He stayed silent and Molly was sure that was the only explanation she was going to get.

"Okay, then," she said as the last of the men finally left. "Let me wash up and I'll show you the hands."

"Thank you," Sherlock said, sounding more annoyed than grateful. "Please avoid anymore ill-timed dates, Molly. They get in the way of my work."

* * *

**Creepy Benicio is creepy. Then again, we have yet to meet Jim from IT. I have some ideas of my own and I have a structure for the story worked out, but let me know if there are any bad dates that you'd like to see. And Sherlock called in a favour to big brother Mycroft. Anyway, thanks for reading and I'll try and get the next chapter up soon.**


	3. Anderson

**Good news: Molly gets away from the felons and creepers for one chapter. Bad news...**

* * *

Molly became well acquainted with Lestrade and the various people on his team since she began working at Bart's. They were always in the mortuary inquiring after one thing or another. More often than not, Sherlock would accompany Lestrade to get a good look at the body himself and voice his deductions. When Sherlock wasn't there Lestrade would come in alone or with a random member of his team. This was how she met Anderson.

"Greg!" Molly greeted cheerfully when she heard him come in. "You're here about Peter Livingston's body, right? He's right over here." The door to the lab swung open again and a man with dark hair was just pocketing a mobile.

"Sorry," the man apologized. "That was just…" he trailed off when he saw Molly and smiled brightly. "Nobody important," he finished. "Lestrade? Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Lestrade apologized. "Anderson, this is Doctor Molly Hooper. Molly, this is the newest member of my team: Anderson." Anderson stretched out his hand and Molly shook it. He had a firm grip.

"Anderson is your surname?" Molly asked. Anderson nodded.

"Mum and Dad played a cruel trick on me with my first name so I prefer to go by Anderson," he explained. "Maybe I'll let you in on the secret later…if I decide I can trust you." He was a bit of a ham, but Molly was beginning to like this man.

"Sherlock isn't with you today?" Molly asked as she peeled back the sheet from the cadaver's face. Lestrade shook his head.

"Nah, he's off in Europe somewhere. I think it's either France or Portugal. He took a case for his older brother. You have a copy of the autopsy report?" Molly handed it over to him.

"I haven't met this Sherlock character yet, but I've heard a lot about him," Anderson admitted. "What's he like?"

"Brilliant," Lestrade muttered.

"Are you talking about Doctor Hooper's report or Sherlock Holmes?"

It took Lestrade a moment to realize what Anderson had said. "Oh, sorry, I was talking about the report-thank you, Molly-but Sherlock Holmes is brilliant, too…he's a right _git_…but he's brilliant."

Anderson looked at Molly. "Would you say that's an appropriate assessment, Doctor Hooper?" He was handsome when he smiled like that.

"He is brilliant," Molly agreed.

"And a git," Lestrade interjected.

"It depends on what mood you catch him in."

"Really? I always seem to catch him when he's being a git."

"You should try seeing him bored," Molly challenged.

When the two of them had gotten all they needed and were going to head back to Scotland Yard, Anderson didn't follow Lestrade.

"You go on ahead," he told him. "I'll be there in a minute." Silence hung in the air as Lestrade left the room. As soon as the door shut behind him Anderson said "I'd like your number…if you don't mind."

Molly felt herself blush. "Oh! I-of course I don't mind. Paper…where is-oh! It's…right in front of me on my clipboard-sorry! Just-wasn't thinking there. Here you go…the top one is my mobile and…the bottom one is my office number."

"Thanks," Anderson said, pocketing the piece of paper. "You can expect a call from me _very _soon. Good day, Doctor…Molly…Hooper." Molly had the good sense to wait until the door had been firmly shut behind him before letting out a girlish squeal. He did call later that night just as she was leaving the hospital.

"What time is your lunch tomorrow?" he asked. "There's a coffee shop I've wanted to go to for a while now. How does that sound?" It sounded just fine to Molly. They met there the next day at the appointed time and for once the date was perfectly normal.

"I haven't had much luck when it comes to trying to find that special someone," Anderson admitted. "I've looked, but it seems all the good ones are snatched up. I'm not looking to get married in a hurry but it would be nice if I had someone to phone and tell them about my day or meet up with them over dinner."

Molly nodded. "Decent blokes do seem rather hard to find these days. I suppose you're decent enough, though."

Anderson raised an eyebrow. "Decent _enough?_"

Molly felt herself blush furiously. "Oh, you know what I meant!"

He walked her back to the hospital after coffee and secured a second lunch date with her for later next week.

* * *

_ A middle-aged, overweight man suddenly drops dead. What would you say is the most likely cause of death?-SH_

_ In my experience, it's normally a heart attack. Shouldn't rule out other possibilities, though.-Molly_

_ Exactly what I've been telling these imbeciles insisting that it's a heart attack.-SH_

_ Case not going well, then?-Molly_

_ I'm going to e-mail you some pictures. These people refuse to listen to anyone that hasn't acquired a medical degree.-SH_

_ I'll look at them right after my lunch date.-Molly_

_ Lunch date?-SH_

_ Yes. I have a lunch date with someone from Scotland Yard. You haven't met him yet. When do you expect to be back in London?-Molly_

_ My return date is not known right now.-SH_

_ Why are you sure I have not met him?-SH_

_ Because Anderson said he hasn't met you and you tend to leave quite the impression on people.-Molly_

* * *

It was at the end of their third date while they were taking a stroll by the Thames that they shared a kiss. It wasn't _completely _perfect-certainly nothing like you see orchestrated in romantic comedies or a Shakespearean tragedy, but it was quite nice. Okay, quite honestly, if the relationship were to turn into something more permanent, Molly would have to have a heart to heart with him about his kissing.

"Work will probably be busy for a while," Anderson said when they were saying their goodbyes outside of Molly's building. "I'll call you when I can. Maybe I'll even pop by when I get the chance."

Molly didn't see him for the next ten days but he would make time to call her when he could. Finally Anderson decided to surprise her one day while she was working in the lab. "Let's pop off to lunch!" he offered. Molly sighed sadly.

"I can't right now," she said sadly. "I'm swamped. I have a few blood and tissue samples to analyse and then there's all the paperwork that goes with it." Anderson understood.

"That's alright. At least let me get you some coffee or something. You look like you could need it." Molly couldn't argue with that. She let him go and get her coffee for her while she put another slide under the microscope. _He is sweet, _Molly thought to herself. _Maybe this will actually turn into a relationship._

Hardly a minute after Anderson left she heard the door to the lab swing open again. "Well that was-" she looked up expecting to see Anderson but Sherlock was standing there instead. "Oh! Sherlock! You're back!" she said, surprised.

"Obviously," he drawled. Molly bit her lip and turned back to her microscope so Sherlock wouldn't see her struggling to laugh. He sounded _just _like Snape. "There was someone else here. Your boyfriend?"

"Anderson isn't my boyfriend, Sherlock," Molly corrected. "We've been out on a few dates and he decided to visit me at work today."

"So there's nothing about this one that's off-putting? There's usually always something wrong."

Molly gave him a look but Sherlock's eyes were looking down at his phone. "No he's perfectly normal…although…"

"There's always something."

"Shut up. It's not _off-putting._ He's just a little old-fashioned about phones. Anderson prefers phone calls to texting." Sherlock remained silent about that. He remained so silent and still, in fact, that when Anderson strolled back into the lab with coffee a few minutes later he took no notice of the new addition to the room.

"You haven't seen a mobile around, have you?" Anderson asked Molly. "I seem to have misplaced it."

Molly looked around her workstation but saw nothing. "Sorry, no. Do you want me to call it? Just give me the number and-"

"No! No, that's alright, I'll find it. It has to be around here somewhere." Anderson seemed frantic to find his phone. He even got so desperate as to crawl on his hands and knees to look for it.

"It is very peculiar," Sherlock spoke up "that you would not tell your first name to the woman you have been on several dates with. Nearly a month since the two of you met and she still calls you _Anderson. _Doctor Hooper is a forgiving person and she just chalks it up as a quirk but nothing to be alarmed about. I, however, have seen this game played before."

Finally Anderson noticed Sherlock. "Who the bloody hell are you?"

Sherlock ignored this and continued on as if he had never been interrupted. "Anderson is a more common name-not quite as common as Smith or Adams-but still quite common. If you only give away your surname it makes it _quite _difficult for someone-particularly someone you intend to date-to look you up on the internet. You've made no calls to her with your mobile which is another glaring red flag that Doctor Hooper has chosen to ignore. However if she were to know that your full name is Sherrinford James Anderson, then a quick search would have pulled up _many _interesting things about you. However, the thing that would pique Doctor Hooper's interest is that you are having an affair."

The room was dead silent. Anderson looked murderous. "How _dare _you accuse me of such a thing? Why would I cheat on poor Molly here?"

Sherlock scoffed. "Yes, poor Molly indeed. I never said you were cheating _on _her. You are cheating _with _Molly; unless there is another Sherrinford James Anderson that married Louisa Penelope Williams five years ago. That is _highly _doubtful, though. I've just sent a link to the website that has your marriage announcement to Doctor Hooper's phone, should she want to see for herself. Also I have found a few interesting text messages and pictures on this mobile. Oh, is it yours? You should be more careful. Leaving it lying around in this lab where Doctor Hooper could have easily seen the text messages between you and your wife and _oh, _what a charming little wedding photo you have here. Even if you had managed to lead her on for a while longer, the tan line from your wedding ring is quite noticeable to the trained eye. Yes, it is faint, but it's there. You remove it regularly and for extended periods of time. What excuses do you make to your wife? Dangerous to have it on at work? Molly, check your mobile. You have a few pictures to look at." Sherlock slapped down a mobile onto the table, breaking the dead silence. The phone in Molly's lab coat pocket buzzed. Feeling sick and shaky all at once, she slowly took out her phone.

Well…Sherlock had certainly done a good job investigating.

"Listen, Molly, you aren't really going to believe what some random bloke says, are you? He just made the whole thing up. I bet he made those photos himself in Photoshop. Are you really going to believe some random bloke over me? Really, Molly, don't be stupid. I-" Molly, in a rare show of anger and humiliation, threw her steaming mug of coffee all over Anderson and ran from the room.

* * *

Sherlock found her hardly two minutes later, slumped over on the floor by one of the autopsy tables. Anyone could deduce from seeing her head buried in her arms and the labored breathing that Molly was crying.

Sherlock sighed heavily as if he was being forced to do something ghastly. He reached his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He thrust it at Molly.

"I consider myself a rather hygienic person so I would prefer it if you washed this before returning to me," he said matter-of-factly. Molly blinked up at him with red eyes and hesitantly took the handkerchief.

"Why do you have one of these?" Molly asked, wiping her eyes. "I thought you would think it a bit old-fashioned."

"I do. My mother always insisted I keep one on me at all times. She has a knack for knowing when I've tried getting rid of one and I'll get a new one sent to me within the week. It's less taxing to just keep it." He paused for a minute; probably trying to deduce her yet again. "Anderson probably won't need to be stupid enough to tell Lestrade the _exact _reason how he got burnt with coffee, but just to be on the safe side, I've texted Lestrade the details so as to prevent you being arrested for assault. Lestrade's own wife has been unfaithful a few times so he'll be particularly understanding of your behavior."

Molly sighed sadly. "Why did I have to fall for his tricks?"

"Because you're an idiot." Molly's protest was cut off with "No, no, don't be like that. Practically everyone is." Molly looked like she was about to cry again and Sherlock could only deal with so much emotion. Putting an end to it was necessary. He sat down on the floor across from her so he was at her eye level.

"Anderson is an ethical man, not a moral man," Sherlock explained. "He knows it is wrong to cheat on his wife but if he were a moral man, he wouldn't actually have done it. He didn't want to hurt his wife which is why he chose you. You are quick to forgive and make excuses for other's behavior so the signs of his infidelity would go unnoticed. However he won't make the same mistake again. Yes, he will still cheat on his wife, but he'll choose someone more like himself next time. Someone cold and unfeeling: someone who doesn't care if she'll be held partially responsible for breaking up a marriage. But he won't be bothering you again. You have no need to worry there. Now," Sherlock stood up here, "when you're done with all…" he gestured to her "_that…_crying business…I need some eyeballs for an experiment. Take your time, I can wait."

Anderson never held a good opinion of Sherlock after that affair. One particularly scathing deduction of Sally Donovan a month later soured her opinion of the consulting detective as well. These two seemingly isolated events would soon enough drive Anderson and Donovan together.

Molly, on the other hand, saw Sherlock in a much more positive light. Opening her eyes to Anderson's ways before she got in too deep with him, the handkerchief, and even his own attempt at making her feel better about the whole thing made Molly think of him somewhat as her own knight in shining armour.

* * *

**J. Sherrinford Holmes was originally Sherlock's name in the first drafts of the story so that is where Anderson's first name came from. I looked to see if they actually gave him a first name in the show and I found none. Some of you suggested I do a married man cheating on his wife, one person said that was overdone, and another wondered when Anderson would come in after seeing Donovan. I had originally thought of doing a separate Anderson and random married man chapter but I decided in the end to roll them together. **

**Molly's opinion of Sherlock is beginning to lead toward _love,_ methinks.**

**Thanks for all the reviews! I hope you're all enjoying the story so far.**


	4. Sherlock Holmes

**Sorry for the long wait. School got in the way. Sorry this one is so short. Next chapter will be longer, I promise.**

* * *

It crept up on Molly rather slowly. At first she thought her heart was just beating faster because he startled her. Then she found herself smiling brightly when he strolled into her lab, effectively breaking up the monotony of her work day. Then she began stumbling over her words whenever he smiled at her and she felt like a puddle of mush. And then one day, it hit her: she fancied Sherlock Holmes.

Any other woman would think she was mad for fancying him. Sure, he was handsome with that dark curly hair and those piercing blue eyes, but he tended to have a rather abrasive personality. He was blunt and to the point and more than a little clueless about social norms and nobody could quite believe that he was actually human. But Molly could see that there was a heart underneath all the rough edges. It wasn't as if he wore it on his sleeve around her, but sometimes with his toughest cases and in his more vulnerable moments she could see him let his guard down _ever _so slightly.

One morning, Molly took extra care in getting ready. She had decided that this would be the day she would ask Sherlock Holmes out to coffee. He had texted her while she was having her breakfast to tell her he needed a male cadaver to run an experiment on. It was for a case. He was always in a better mood when he had work to do so today would be as good a day as any. Molly carefully applied her newly-bought lipstick and smiled experimentally at herself in the mirror.

Good Lord, she looked like the Joker!

Frustrated, Molly wiped off the lipstick. Right, natural look it was, then. She took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror. Right, she could do this. Practice what you're going to say. Practice is _key._

"Sherlock, instead of getting coffee here, how about we get coffee somewhere else? There's a lovely place up the road and we both like coffee…" Oh, that wouldn't do. She was starting to stutter and her poor nerves were getting the best of her. Sherlock wasn't even in the room and her knees were shaking.

Molly shook her head and decided to try again. Sherlock was blunt so she should try that approach, too. "Coffee? After my shift? The two of us? How's that sound?" She could hear Sherlock's reply in her head. _That sounds like an unfortunate butchering of the English language, Molly._

Maybe that was a little _too _blunt. Molly took a deep breath. This _shouldn't _be hard. She was only asking Sherlock out to coffee. It wasn't like this was the first time she asked someone out to coffee. "Sherlock? Maybe later if you're not busy, you and I could get some coffee?" There, that didn't sound so bad.

Molly eyed the lipstick for a minute before chucking it into her bag. She liked that lipstick and it looked perfectly fine on her so long as she didn't smile like a bloody serial killer.

All she had to do was ask him a simple question. There was nothing wrong with that. Besides, the worst thing he could say was no, right?

She applied the lipstick again as he took a riding crop to her former colleague. Now was her chance. No time like the present.

"So…bad day, was it?" Molly joked. Sherlock didn't react in any way to indicate he thought that joke was funny. Not surprising, Sherlock isn't one for jokes.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes," Sherlock said. He pulled out his small notebook and began making notes in it. "A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."

Molly nodded. "Listen, I was wondering," she began. "Maybe later, when you're finished-"

"Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before," Sherlock interrupted. Why was it her brain went on holiday when he looked at her? It didn't used to be like that. Of course, Molly didn't always fancy him before now.

"I, uh…I refreshed it a bit," Molly answered. It wasn't exactly a lie. She did have it once before that day so she had technically "refreshed it." Sherlock scrutinized her for a few seconds, before seemingly deciding to accept that answer. "Sorry, you were saying?"

_Blunt and to the point, _Molly reminded herself. _Blunt and to the point. _"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee?" There. She did it. Not even the world's only Consulting Detective would be able to misconstrue exactly what her question meant.

"Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs."

Or, maybe he could.

* * *

**John put it well: it is amazing how spectacularly ignorant Sherlock is about some things. Now we've caught up to the season one timeline! I'm sure you all know who's coming next.**


	5. Jim from IT

**Everyone knew this one was coming. Enjoy!**

* * *

Molly had admitted to her friends on numerous occasions that she had a _thing _for guys with accents. She had fallen for Benicio and his accent before he turned out to be a complete pig. She could listen to David Tennant all day long if she ever had the chance. And if you got her started on _Hugh Jackman…_she could go on about him for _hours. _So of course it was of no surprise to her that she had taken instantly to Jim from IT with the Irish accent.

It was like he _knew _she had a thing for blokes with accents. All he did was fix her computer, smile, and exchange a few pleasantries before asking her out to coffee. That was how she found herself laughing and chatting with Jim from IT in the coffee shop later that week.

"Okay, so I have to know," Jim said, "a lot of the blokes up in IT keep mentioning a guy who hangs out with the dead bodies a lot. He has a weird name...Sherrinford? Hemlock?"

"Sherlock Holmes," Molly supplied. "What have you heard about him?"

"A lot. He's supposed to some sort of renegade detective? Apparently spends all his time in the morgue doing experiments that may or may not be ethical. That's just what I've heard, anyway."

Molly laughed. "He's a _consulting _detective. Made up the job himself," she explained.

Jim was confused, and rightfully so. It wasn't every day you heard that someone created their own job. "Consulting detective? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, to paraphrase Sherlock: whenever the police are having trouble with a case, which is apparently always, they call Sherlock. He has this odd little…I suppose you could call it a talent of sorts…all he has to do is look at you and he has your entire life story mapped out in his head. It doesn't stay in his head, though. He just has to…_blurt _it all out. I swear, it's going to get him into trouble, one day. Actually, knowing Sherlock, it probably already _has _got him into trouble."

Jim gave a little laugh. "He sounds like…quite the personality." Molly laughed and nodded in agreement. "What _is _he like? Sherlock the person, not Sherlock the detective."

Wasn't that quite the question. Molly opened and closed her mouth for some time. Trying to think of the proper words. "Well he's….Sherlock is…I think it's like…um…it's just…I …sorry," Molly finally apologized, feeling herself blush in embarrassment. Normally she only got flustered like this _around _Sherlock. Now it seemed all she had to do was talk about him for her to get like this. A wide smile crept up on Jim's face.

"Doctor Hooper, don't tell me you may _fancy _this Sherlock fellow, do you?" Jim said teasingly. Nothing could be further from the truth. Alright, she may have fancied him still just a _little _bit, but she was trying to move on after that disastrous attempt at asking him out for coffee.

"I will admit this: Sherlock Holmes is…rather handsome. But sadly, for women everywhere, he's married."

Jim raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Married? Really?"

Molly nodded sadly. "Yes…to his work." Jim laughed heartily at her joke.

"So he's a workaholic, then?"

Molly nodded. "He is the epitome of workaholic. If he doesn't have work to do, he gets bored and Sherlock tends to be destructive when he's bored. Usually that means he comes down to the lab and that means _I _get to deal with him. Of course, I'm the only pathologist in the whole of Bart's that has enough patience to deal with. But he's got himself a new flatmate now so that will probably change."

"A flatmate?"

"Yeah, his name is…oh, I know this, I know this…it starts with a J…I'm terrible at names," Molly admitted. "Yes, he got himself a flatmate. Some people might think it strange because Sherlock has said countless times they he _abhors _people, but I don't think that's quite true. I think he's warming up to his flatmate, there's one Detective Inspector that he hates less than the rest of them, and I honestly think he's got a soft spot for his landlady. Sherlock himself is, I admit, quite an unpleasant person. He's rude, arrogant, and cares very little for others. His knowledge of basic day to day social customs is appalling. The most annoying thing about him is that he _always _thinks he's right and he normally is which is what makes him so frustrating. Very rarely have I seen him get something wrong."

Jim was definitely intrigued. "I thought he was supposed to be a brilliant consulting detective. When does he get things wrong?"

"Well this one time he congratulated a friend of mine on her pregnancy…she left a rather nasty bruise on him." Jim laughed heartily and Molly was starting to hope that this would lead somewhere and she could have a proper boyfriend for once.

Although, there seemed to be something off about Jim.

* * *

Sherlock was in her lab again, armed with a pair of shoes and his flatmate seemed rather worried. Of course he was worried, Molly worried sometimes, too, but she knew that whatever was happening, Sherlock was sure to save the day.

Although she too thought it highly inappropriate how excited Sherlock got over some of his more macabre cases, she understood that it wasn't necessarily a dead body that made him practically dance for joy. No, Sherlock enjoyed puzzles and riddles and each case was a workout for his overly energetic mind.

She could hear the computer beep as she pushed the door open to the lab. "Any luck?" she asked.

"Oh, yes!" Sherlock said, sounding excited. She was bracing herself for one of his long explanations when Jim popped his head in the door. Molly smiled, feeling a little flustered. She still wasn't used to Jim popping downstairs for the occasional visit. Finally, a gentleman. Molly ushered him into the room. He had been so curious about Sherlock and now here was finally his chance to meet him.

"So you're Sherlock Holmes," Jim said with great interest. "Molly's told me all about you. Are you on one of your cases?" He circled to the other side of Sherlock who was still looking into the microscope. It was always murder on her poor nerves every time Sherlock met anyone she was dating. There had been two dates since she tried to ask out Sherlock, and the Consulting Detective picked them apart and declared them both duds. But Molly had high hopes that Jim would pass Sherlock's little "test" with flying colors.

Sherlock finally glanced up from his microscope at Jim. "Gay," he said dryly, turning his attention back to the microscope. The smile dropped off of Molly's face in an instant.

"Sorry, what?" Molly managed to say. It seemed that some of the etiquette talks both she and Sherlock's flatmate (John! His name was John!) had had with him were not working very well.

"Nothing, um, hey," Sherlock said, nodding to Jim. You couldn't fool Molly, though. All she could hear going around her head was Sherlock's voice taunting her. _Jim is gay, Jim is gay, stupid Molly. _No. No, he _couldn't, _he just _couldn't _be gay. Why else would he have gone out on two other dates with her?

She immediately turned on Sherlock once Jim had left the room. "What do you mean 'gay'? We're together."

Sherlock looked up from his microscope at her. He was deducing her, the bastard. "Domestic bliss suits you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I've last seen you."

"Two and a half," Molly corrected.

"Three."

It wasn't often Molly got angry but she could feel her blood boiling now. "He's not _gay. _Why do you have to spoil-?!" Of course he had to spoil every single relationship she ever found herself in. This was Sherlock Holmes who apparently couldn't _stand _the sight of her being happy. "He's not!" Molly insisted.

Sherlock scoffed. "With that level of personal grooming?"

John, bless him, came to her defense. "Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? _I _put product in my hair."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You _wash _your hair. There's a difference." Then came the explanation everything from his hair down to-

"His underwear?" Molly echoed. How the hell did he figure out someone was gay from their underwear?

"Visible above the waistline," Sherlock explained. "Very visible. Very particular brand. That," Sherlock reached over to the dish that Jim had knocked over, "plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish her," he held up the tiny piece of paper as proof, "I'd say you better break it off now and save yourself the pain."

Molly wanted to say something back; anything. But all she could do was imagine one of her scalpels sticking into Sherlock's skull. Instead she turned on her heel and fled the lab. Sherlock seemed to get the hint-or John had told him-and he continued his experiments back at his own flat. Molly broke things off with Jim later that night. He seemed very understanding and she didn't really think much about Jim at all until a few days later when she got a call from Detective Inspector Lestrade halfway through her morning routine.

"Listen, Molly, if you don't mind, I'd like you to come down to Scotland Yard for some questioning later today. I can call your boss if you can't get off," he offered."

"No, no, it's fine, Greg. I have off today, anyway. Why do you need me for questioning, anyway? Is this about my last autopsy report?" Molly could tell she sounded a bit panicky.

"No, it's about…I understand you were dating someone from Bart's named Jim?" Molly wasn't sure she liked the tone in the Detective Inspector's voice.

"Only three dates," Molly assured him. "It wasn't anything too serious. I actually broke things off with him a few days ago."

Lestrade sighed. "Right, there's no easy way to say this but…that was all a ruse. Jim is actually a criminal mastermind. He's been behind all the bombings and he nearly blew up John and Sherlock last night, too."

Molly kept herself composed until she was off the phone and then promptly fainted.

* * *

**Molly just gets all the bad ones doesn't she? I'm thinking of skipping the Christmas party scene, but you guys let me know if you'd really like to see it. Thanks for all the lovely reviews so far. Make sure to keep them coming!**


	6. Sherlock Holmes at Christmas

**I decided to keep the Christmas scene after all! I had to watch the scene over again a few times to write it. Talk about painful. Next chapter is almost done and should be up rather soon.**

* * *

Molly Hooper had gotten Sherlock Holmes to do what many thought was completely impossible: she got him to apologise. Granted, she had to look like a complete _idiot _before he did so, but she had proven to all that even Sherlock Holmes wasn't completely clueless and knew when he had gone too far.

Molly had bought the dress on a whim one day. She thought it looked rather nice on her and hoped that an occasion would pop up soon enough that would give her an excuse to wear it. That occasion came along soon enough when John handed her an invitation to a Christmas party at his and Sherlock's flat. If there were any reason to get all dressed up, Christmas was definitely it.

She had spent quite a while trying to figure out what the best presents would be for everyone. John would be getting a new jumper. It may have taken her forever to finally learn his name, but she caught on much quicker to how much he favoured jumpers. Mrs. Hudson would be getting an assortment of tea and biscuits. She knew Greg was an avid reader, so she got him a copy of a lovely book she had enjoyed.

Sherlock was difficult to get a present for because he seemed to not like anything. But Molly liked to think she knew him rather well and it didn't take long for her to come up with her present. A few x-rays and MRI's of people who had died in rather strange ways would be _perfect. _Sherlock hadn't seen these before because they were normally reserved for the medical students and there was nothing too suspicious about how these people had died. She also prepared a few slides for him to examine. Sherlock's first love was his job and his second love was science so Molly felt rather proud of herself for thinking up this present.

She should have brought her presents somewhere to be wrapped but _no,_ Molly decided that she was going to wrap the presents _herself _this year, thank you very much. Lord, Greg's present looked _passable, _but it still wasn't that great. However, there had been quite the surplus of bodies coming through her doors so she had to press on and keep wrapping. With Mrs. Hudson's and John's presents, she learnt from her mistakes and the results were presents that were wrapped much better than Greg's. This meant Sherlock's present actually came out wrapped the best; the best wrapping job she had ever done in fact. Molly felt so proud of herself, she even put a shiny bow on top of it.

She had taken plenty of care with her hair that night, wanting it to look especially nice. Molly would be a liar if she said she wasn't getting all dressed up just _a little _for a certain Consulting Detective. But she told herself that it was mostly because she was going to a Christmas party. _What better reason to get all dressed up than for a party? _Molly mused to herself as she applied a brand new lipstick she had just purchased a few days previous. Feeling festive and in high spirits she added a little bow to her hair.

She wasn't surprised to see that Sherlock was being rather antisocial at the party. In fact, he probably fought kicking and screaming to have the party cancelled. Molly was rather glad she hadn't been around for that little spat. However she soon found herself wishing that Sherlock had won that battle. Then she wouldn't be wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

All she had been doing was being pleasant and polite to everyone and Sherlock decided to be…Sherlock.

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly…and you're serious about him," Sherlock said. Molly felt her heart drop into her stomach. This could _not _be good.

"Sorry, what?" Surely, she couldn't have heard him right.

"In fact, you're seeing him this very night and you're giving him a gift." No, she heard him right. Where did he get this ridiculous notion in his head? Boyfriend? Molly had not had a steady _boyfriend _in…you know, she wasn't even going to think about that.

Both John and Lestrade tried to be her knights in shining armour, but there was no stopping Sherlock once he got on a roll.

"Take a day off!" John begged.

"Shut up and have a drink," Greg implored.

"Oh come on, surely you've all seen the present on top of the bag? Perfectly wrapped with a bow, all the others are slap-dash at best. Someone special, then," Sherlock decided as he picked up the present. She _really _should have had the presents wrapped by somebody else. She also _really _wish she hadn't carried on her habit of signing her name with kisses. Sherlock was bound to interpret _that _the wrong way. "Shade of red echoes her lipstick, either an unconscious decision or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has _love _on her mind." If she wasn't too busy willing herself to become invisible, Molly would have slapped him across his stupid face. Now she had to stand there whilst he _humiliated _her before she could get a word in edgewise.

"The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact that she's giving him a gift at all, that would suggest hopes of a long-term relationship. And the fact that she's seeing him tonight is obvious from her makeup and what she's wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breas…" Finally decided to look at the tag, the clot. Sherlock was finally rendered speechless and this was one of the very few times that Molly could hardly stand to be in the room with him after one of his scathing deductions.

She wanted to say something just as scathing back at him, but she was too upset to think properly. "You always say such horrible things," Molly said. "Every time. Always. Always." She wanted to say so much more, but at the risk of making even _more _of a spectacle of herself, Molly opted to stay silent. Sherlock looked quite uncomfortable which made Molly feel just a _little _better. For once, he may be feeling remorse. Sherlock began to turn away, but then he surprised them all and turned back to her.

"I am sorry. Forgive me." It felt like the world had just stopped turning. Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock _bloody _Holmes. _The _Sherlock Holmes, self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopath had realised he was in the wrong and _apologised. _Where was a camera when you needed it? Then he did something even _more _unthinkable. He leaned toward her and whispered "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper," and kissed her on the cheek.

Then Sherlock's bloody text alert went off and he disappeared into his room. Molly made her excuses and fled back to the safety of her own flat. So much for getting dressed up, so much for all that present wrapping, so much for Christmas. Molly felt quite done with trying in any way to get the attentions for Sherlock Holmes. For now, she would settle on being what she had always been to him: a pathologist.

* * *

**Well...that ended a bit sadly. Next chapter might start out a bit sad, too, as a warning. Thank you for all your reviews, favorites, et cetera!**


	7. Unknown

**Thank you for all of your kind reviews on the last chapter! I've had some free time lately which means pretty quick updates! Enjoy!**

* * *

Molly doesn't even remember his name anymore. At one time, she did. The name lurked somewhere in her mind for years after Uni, but she never really gave the man himself that much thought. Not until she bumped into him completely by chance while she was out browsing over books. They both decided spontaneously right then and there to catch some lunch and catch up with each other. She was certain they had laughed over some stories from their past. It was nice being able to reminisce with someone.

She left that lunch with his phone number tucked away in her pocket and plans for another lunch date later that week. Everything changed that day. All because of Sherlock.

"Ah, Molly!" he said. He actually sounded genuinely happy to see her, but Molly knew better by now. You had to be cautious of everything Sherlock said.

"Oh, hello. I was just going out." She was out of her lab coat, she had her bag. She _would _go out today.

"No you're not," Sherlock said, spinning her around in the direction she had just come from.

"I've got a lunch date!" Molly protested. She doubted Sherlock would care. And of course, he didn't.

"Cancel it," he ordered. "You're having lunch with me." He produced a packet of crisps out of each of his coat pockets.

"What?" To say Molly was surprised was an understatement. Sherlock had often interrupted her while she was about to get food, but never before had he actually brought her something. Sure it was only crisps but maybe Sherlock was-no, this was Sherlock. There were _always _strings attached.

"We need your help," Sherlock told her. "It's one of your boyfriends. We're trying to track him down. He's been a bit _naughty_."

"It's Moriarty?" John asked.

"Of course it's Moriarty." Molly could hear the annoyance in Sherlock's voice at John not keeping up with him and she knew she was about to take a backseat to their conversation _again_ but she needed to speak up now.

"Actually, Jim wasn't even my boyfriend," she corrected. "We went out three times. I ended it." Molly felt proud of herself. She had broken up with a criminal mastermind and _lived_. She was lucky to be alive. Then again, Jim was only using her and recognised the fact that she was unimportant to Sherlock except to get him coffee.

"Yes," Sherlock agreed. "Then he stole the crown jewels, broke into the Bank of England, and organised a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly."

It was only in her lab that Sherlock ever let his guard down. It was like this place was his security blanket and the mask he normally wore for the entire world to see came off. Whenever John could see him, the mask quickly went back on but came back off immediately when he had turned away. Molly at first through this meant Sherlock trusted her, but now she knew what it really meant: she would remain forever invisible to the world's only Consulting Detective.

"Thank you, John," he muttered.

"Molly," she corrected.

Sherlock looked sad today. It was quite a new sight to her. Molly had seen him angry, perplexed, and downright giddy, but _never _sad. For whatever reason, she got it into her head that he needed to be talked to. Anything to get that sad expression off of his face.

"You're a bit like my dad," Molly told Sherlock. She had thought this a long time ago, but had never admitted it, especially not to _him _until now. "He's dead." Oh, that wasn't the right thing to say. "No, sorry-"

"Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation, it's really not your area," Sherlock told her. And the defensive wall was thrown back up.

"When he was…dying, he was always cheerful, he was lovely. Except for when he thought no one could _see…_I saw him once. He looked…sad."

"Molly…" Sherlock said warningly.

"You look sad," Molly continued. "When you think _he _can't see you." Sherlock finally looked up and across the room to John and then he slowly turned his head to look at Molly. The walls were up, the mask was on, but she could see the cracks.

"Are you okay? And don't just say you are because I know what that means: looking sad when you think nobody can see you."

"You can see me," Sherlock pointed out.

"I don't count," Molly reminded him. Sherlock looked almost…surprised by what she said. She couldn't fathom why he would be surprised. He had shown time and time again that she really doesn't count. Not now, not ever. She is Molly Hooper: wallflower pathologist who blends into the background and will never be important to the Consulting Detective standing in front of her. She knows him better than anyone-with the exception of his brother-and he won't even accept her help when she offers it to him. He demands her help all the time, but when it comes down to when he _really _needs help…well, it was no secret that she would not be his first choice.

Molly stormed from the room to clear her head and Sherlock and John are gone by the time she gets back. She still remembered her date's name-she did have to call and cancel to help Sherlock-and she still had that number around her flat somewhere. It was when she was leaving late into the night that she forgot his name completely. She couldn't recall the name, but she knew the exact moment she forgot it.

"You're wrong, you know," Sherlock's voice said from behind her. She gasped in surprise. He really had to break that habit of sneaking up on her. There was no way it was good for her heart.

"You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you. But you were right." He finally looked up at her. Unlike all the times he had showered her with compliments just to get his way, Molly could see this was no trick, no act, nothing. This was Sherlock Holmes: unmasked, defensive walls down, showing raw emotion, and finally admitting all his problems inside his security blanket.

"I'm not okay."

* * *

Every day for nearly a year now, Molly lived with the secret that she killed Sherlock Holmes. Okay, she didn't _actually _kill him, but she helped fake his death. When it came between a fake death and an _actual _death, Molly had been glad to help in any way she could. In his darkest hour, she had been the only one he could turn to. If he wasn't disappearing all the time, Molly would say that they were _almost, _very _nearly, _entering the friend-ish realm. Of course, you can't hang out with your dead friend in public.

Molly was combing through her hair one night, wondering what she should order for dinner when she heard a noise in her kitchen. Toby was with her, so it couldn't be him. Trying to be as quiet and stealthy as possible, Molly grabbed the cricket bat she kept on hand for occasions such as this and tiptoed out of her bedroom. She nearly had a panic attack when she saw someone in her kitchen, but she steeled her nerves and pressed on. Molly's plan was to whack him over the head and then run to a neighbour for safety and call up Greg from her mobile from there. The man-he appeared to be homeless-had his back turned to her and he seemed to be unpacking something from a bag. Molly was right behind him now. She swung back the bat and-

"Molly, please put that cricket bat away before you do something you'll regret," the homeless man said. She _knew _that voice. She tried not to be too overexcited. Instead she huffed impatiently.

"Well you're the one who's saying I always need to learn to protect myself," Molly reminded him. "You look…a bit awful."

Sherlock had turned around to face her now and she could finally get the full effect of his disguise: fake beard (she hoped it was fake) dirty cap, clothes, boots, and face. She doubted John would even recognize him if he saw him now.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And here I thought _I _was the one who lacked tact." He grinned at her before brushing past her. "I'll be needing a shower. I brought food, help yourself." The good thing about being friends with the world's only Consulting Detective: he knew without asking what your favorite Chinese restaurant was and your favorite dishes there.

Sherlock emerged from the shower, back in his old clothes (that awful beard was gone, thank goodness), just as Molly was getting herself a second helping of food. It must have been quite a while since Sherlock last ventured to eat because he piled up food on a plate of his own and sat down with Molly.

"How have things been going?" Molly asked him.

"I'm getting closer now," Sherlock said and he sounded genuinely happy. "Within a year, probably less, I should have my name cleared and I'll be out of hiding. Oh! Nearly forgot…" he started rummaging through the bag he had dropped by her sofa and pulled out a large plastic bag. "Souvenirs," he explained, handing it to her.

"You didn't have to get me anyth-you were in _China?_" Molly eagerly looked at all the little trinkets Sherlock had brought back.

"Well Jo-…a _friend_ told me it was rude to accept someone's generous hospitality without returning the favour in some way." Sherlock still missed John so much but he didn't like to talk about how he was feeling so the subject of John was avoided at all costs.

"I spoke with Mycroft," Sherlock finally spoke after a period of silence. "When I make my debut back into the world of the living he has promised to make a few phone calls. You needn't worry about losing your job because of me. Besides, I am sure you still remain the _only _competent pathologist at Bart's and won't be a complete hindrance to my work."

The ever elusive Sherlockian compliment had appeared out of nowhere. All the time he's been spending alone might actually make this self-proclaimed sociopath actually be missing people. "Thank you," she finally said.

"This is only the third time I've seen you with your hair down," Sherlock observed.

Molly nodded. "Yes, well, it's not very practical to have your hair down when you're up to your elbows in…well, no need to explain, really."

"You've had your hair down before," Sherlock reminded her. "When my brother and I came to identify a body."

Molly nodded. "Yes, I remember. You knew her from…not her face," Molly finished uncomfortably.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "She was desperate for attention, would sooner stab you in the back than do you a favour, and she had the unfortunate habit of walking around naked."

"Oh," was all Molly had to say to that. "So she wasn't your girlfriend, then?" Sherlock just gave her a look. "Right, then," she muttered, suddenly finding her food much more interesting.

"You haven't been on a date for quite a while," Sherlock observed. "Weren't you going out on a lunch date the last time I came into Bart's to run some experiments?"

Molly nodded. "Yes, but I cancelled it. I always meant to reschedule but it never happened…I can't even remember his name and I'm fairly certain I must have tossed the number out ages ago," she admitted.

"And you haven't gone out on a date since?"

Molly smiled. "No, I haven't. Besides, I remember a _certain _detective telling me I should avoid all future attempts at a relationship for the sake of law and order?" Realization spread across Sherlock's face as he recalled the conversation. "I haven't been looking to date anybody, actually. Maybe I'll start looking again."

Sherlock didn't have anything more to add and the both finished their dinners in silence.

* * *

**So obviously first half took part during The Reichenbach Fall, and the second half was after. I'd imagine he wouldn't stay in London all the time but when he did come back, he might crash with Molly.**

**I purposely didn't name Molly's date. He wasn't terribly important either to the plot or to Molly so he'll just have to remain anonymous.**

**Who's going to be Molly's date next chapter? It's someone from the show and that's all I'm saying. I'll let you guess. Thanks for all the lovely reviews! Keep them coming!**


	8. Greg Lestrade

**It's Lestrade! I had to do it. Everyone saw how he looked at Molly at the Christmas party. Molly, you lucky girl.**

* * *

"You're home early," Sherlock commented.

"You didn't call ahead to let me know you were going to be in town _again,_" Molly pointed out. She couldn't stay _too _mad at him, though. Anytime he just dropped in like this was a reminder that he was alive and well and that much closer to coming back from the dead.

"You missed me," Sherlock retorted. He was right, too, damn him. "You're sentimental like that."

Molly dropped her handbag on to the coffee table and walked back to her bedroom. "Your brother could get you a room anywhere in London and yet you choose to stay _here _with _me_ every time you're in. What does that say about _you?_"

"It says I like the prospect of free food," Sherlock replied dryly. "Speaking of which: what would you like to do for dinner tonight?"

"Whatever's in the kitchen, help yourself," Molly called back to him before shutting her bedroom door. When she emerged again, clothes changed to nicer attire, Sherlock was standing outside her bedroom. With his arms crossed over his chest and that scowl, he looked like a disapproving parent.

"You have a date," Sherlock said accusingly.

"Yes. I do recall telling you that I was planning on starting that again," Molly said. She pushed past him to the bathroom and started touching up her makeup.

"This isn't the first date," Sherlock said. It wasn't a question. He had deduced it.

"Second date," Molly confirmed.

"Tell me about him."

Molly bit her lip nervously. "He's really nice," she assured him. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Avoiding the answer won't work with me, Molly," he reminded her as she applied and blotted her lipstick. "The only reason you would avoid telling me about him is if…I _knew _him." Sherlock followed closely behind her as she crossed back to her bedroom to put on her shoes. "I know him, don't I?"

Molly sighed, pulling on one heeled shoe. "Sherlock would you let it go?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I know him and you won't tell me who it is-it's John, isn't it?"

"No, of course not!" Molly quickly assured him. "Besides, I don't think he's been in much of a mood to date since-well, it's not John."

"Stamford?"

"No."

"I know you'd never be stupid enough to go out with Anderson again."

"I was stupid for going out with him in the first place," Molly pointed out. She tried to push past Sherlock but he would not let her.

"If it is someone appalling, I need to know now so you won't be hurt later. I have no need to deal with womanly _emotions _again." Sherlock shuddered a little at the memory of Molly's break up with Anderson.

"Oh, for the love of-! It's _Greg. _Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. You honestly think anything is horribly wrong with him?" Molly challenged.

"Well he does come with strings attached," Sherlock pointed out. "His children," he clarified when Molly didn't understand. She pushed past him, annoyed.

"It's only the second date, Sherlock. I'm not about to become a stepmother anytime soon. Now if you don't mind…" Molly grabbed her handbag. "I won't be back too late," she promised. Before Sherlock could get another word in, she quickly left the flat, locking the door behind her.

* * *

"So tell me what's new at Scotland Yard," Molly asked. "Things must not be _so _bad considering you haven't needed my area of expertise in quite some time."

Molly would be a rotten liar if she said she didn't like the way his eyes crinkled at the corners every time he smiled. "Well no gruesome murders lately-thank God-and honestly things have been rather slow. However things have been a _lot _better since I sacked Anderson and Donovan."

"You _sacked _them?" Molly was incredulous and could do very little to hide her smile.

"Well, technically they were transferred to another team," Greg corrected. "Their work isn't nearly as exciting as it used to be. Mainly they deal with traffic accidents. The bastards deserve less in my opinion." Greg took a sip of his wine and Molly could tell from the look in his eyes that he was wishing for something much stronger. "He was a right git, he was. But besides John, I was one of the closest things he had to a friend and to this day…I should've stood up for him…"

"Greg, if Sherlock were alive today, he would hear you talking like you are now and do you know what he would say?" Molly paused for effect. "He would say that if you spent as much time on your cases as you do being a sentimental fool, maybe you'd actually get some work done." Greg laughed heartily.

"That does sound like him," he agreed. After their dinner it had been decided that they would take a walk, maybe pop into a few shops. However, someone else decided to change their plans for them.

"Hello, Dr. Hooper. Detective Inspector Lestrade," said a woman dressed in black. She hardly looked up from her phone as she did some rapid texting. Molly recognised her. She had had to deal with her and her boss several times in the years she had known Sherlock.

"Sorry, do I know you?" Greg asked. The woman sighed heavily and gave him a _look. _

"No, not really," she replied as a sleek black car pulled up to them. "Well, come on, then. No time to waste" and the woman started to step toward the car.

"Hang on!" Greg protested. The woman paused, still holding the car door slightly ajar. "What makes you think we're getting in that car with you? We have no clue who you are, what you're doing, who you're working for-"

"What does your boss want?" Molly interrupted. Honestly, she was rather sick of this happening.

"You know her?" Greg said, surprised.

The woman in black rolled her eyes. "Just get in."

"No!" Greg protested. "I'm not getting in there. You can't just pull up in some mysterious black car and make demands of me and suspect me to just go along with them and this has something to do with Mycroft, doesn't it?" Greg finally caught on. "I thought I was done dealing with him," he muttered as he climbed in the car after Molly.

Mycroft knew how not to be seen when he didn't want to be seen. The various locations he selected to talk with people were a reflection of that. He really had a touch for the dramatics. Was it _really _necessary to meet in an abandoned and dilapidated old building? "You know, normal people make a call or send a _text _when they want to talk," Greg said pointedly. Mycroft smirked at him.

"One trait I share with my brother is that both of us have the distinction of not being labeled as _normal_," he replied. "Well I brought you here to tell you that you no longer need worry; the threat has been taken care of. You're lucky to be alive now, Detective Inspector."

If it wasn't one Holmes brother ruining one of her dates, it was the other. Molly just couldn't _win, _could she?

"Lucky to be alive? What's that supposed to mean?" Greg demanded.

"It means exactly what it sounds like," Mycroft drawled, sounding annoyed. "Moriarty had an assassin tailing you for quite some time now; before Sherly's demise, even. He's been working undercover in Scotland Yard for some time now. However, like I stated previously: the threat has been taken care of."

Molly involuntarily shuddered at the way he said that. She didn't much care for the details as to how the _threat _had been "taken care of."

"Now that the threat against both you _and _Mrs. Hudson has been taken care of, I thought now would be the right time to tell you that within the next month or two, I will be making a public statement admitting that I…I gave Moriarty information about my brother during questioning with him and that Richard Brook was a fake identity that Moriarty used to discredit my brother and turn everyone against him. Shortly thereafter, if all goes according to plan, my brother will be returning to his work and you'll have your Consulting Detective back again."

Greg blinked once. Twice. "Sherlock's dead-he jumped-he's-I went to his funeral, I…is this some sick and twisted joke, Mycroft? Sherlock can't be alive. He can't-"

"He _is, _Greg," Molly assured him. The man looked at her incredulously. "I'm sorry. I lied. I've been lying to you and to everyone but it was out of necessity and I was doing it to help Sherlock."

Greg looked back and forth from Molly to Mycroft for some time before letting out a large breath. "So…that irritating bastard is alive?" Mycroft nodded in confirmation. Greg was silent again for some time. "Okay…well if my help is needed in anyway, I'm sure you have my mobile number."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "I must say, Detective Inspector. I'm surprised at your reaction. I thought it'd be a bit different."

"Yeah, well, Sherlock isn't here right now. If he was, I would have punched him. Although, John might want that honour when the time comes. Truthfully, I need to go home and have a _very _strong drink."

* * *

Molly looked very annoyed when she locked the door to her flat behind her. "You and your brother," she growled, kicking off her heels "have the _worst timing _in the world. You _knew _that Mycroft was going to talk to Greg tonight, didn't you?"

Sherlock hardly looked up from the laptop and continued to type away furiously. "I knew that he intended to talk to him _soon_, but he did not let me know any specifics." Finally he got a good look at her. "Wine?" he offered and Molly was amused to see that he had already poured a glass and had it waiting for her.

"Thank you," she said, sitting down next to him. "So your brother said you'd be coming back to the land of the living rather soon?"

Sherlock nodded, but didn't elaborate. Instead he asked her "So when is the next date with you and the Detective Inspector to take place?"

Molly sighed. "Probably never," she admitted. "Greg is a very lovely person. He's nice and funny and he's not a complete and total _pig_ unlike some men I've dated but…I don't know. It's a little hard to explain. Have you ever been on a date-no, never mind. Nothing…_clicked. _Greg is nice, but I didn't really feel any chemistry with him."

Sherlock nodded and Molly tried not to feel uncomfortable while he stared at her. _Deducing_, yet again. Finally he turned his attention back to the laptop.

"You can put on one of your mindless television programs, if you want," Sherlock told her. "I don't mind."

They both sat together in silence, Molly more than aware that evenings like this with Sherlock were getting fewer in number with each passing day.

* * *

**So...we're getting close to the end here, guys. Not many more chapters left. Thanks to everyone so far who has reviewed, added this story to their favorites or alerts, etc. **

**Any guesses on who the date for the next chapter will be? I'm sure most everyone knows who's next.**


	9. John Watson

**Very long chapter for all my lovely readers! Surprisingly, nobody guessed that this was John's chapter. Oh, well. Happy reading!**

* * *

"John!" Molly gasped in surprise. John Watson had not made an appearance at Bart's for quite some time-especially not in the mortuary. She had paid a few visits to Mrs. Hudson for tea and John very rarely made an appearance at these visits. Although she suspected that she was going to have to see him more often now. Sherlock was back, his good reputation restored, and John was sure to know the part she played and how she had been lying all this time. She had been waiting for this for a few weeks now and was prepared for John's angry accusations.

But to her surprise, John did not look angry at all. He was _smiling _at her. "I-I didn't expect you to be by any time soon. I thought you were catching up with Sherlock."

John laughed. "Yeah, well, two weeks with Sherlock-the novelty wore off _pretty _fast," he joked. Molly laughed and nodded in agreement. "Listen, Sherlock told me what you did," he began.

"I'm sorry!" Molly blurted out. "I feel absolutely terrible for lying to you and to everyone for so long. You have no idea how much I just wanted to tell you and put an end to the misery but I couldn't. I am _so _sorry. You have no idea."

"Molly, it's fine!" John assured her. "I didn't come here looking for an apology. I came here to _thank _you." Well, Molly honestly hadn't been expecting that. Sure, she knew that what she had done was a good thing in the end, but it still hadn't stopped the overwhelming feelings of guilt over the last few months. "If it hadn't been for you then Sherlock would _really _be dead and he wouldn't be here now. Of course, if he doesn't get a case soon, _I _might kill him myself. Anyway, you have no idea how grateful I am that you helped Sherlock and put up with him all this time. I want to pay you back for everything you've done."

Molly smiled. "John, I was happy to help, really. There's no need to pay me back," she insisted. John shook his head.

"No, sorry. I have to. No arguments about that." John looked thoughtful. "How about this: when's your lunch?"

Molly blinked. This was a surprise. "In half an hour. I was just about to go wash up and change."

John nodded. "Right. I'm going to pop up and visit Mike Stamford for a little and I will be back here in exactly thirty minutes and I'll take you out to lunch. I know that doesn't even come _close _to paying you back for everything you've done, but it's a start."

* * *

"Where have you been?" Sherlock drawled. He was sprawled out on the couch, deep in thought. John was surprised he had heard him come in at all.

"I wanted to get out, so I did," John tried to reply nonchalantly. Sherlock nodded.

"Yes, I see. And what's the name of the woman you got out to see?" He finally opened his eyes and smirked at his friend. "I'm not as rusty as you seem to think I am. Now, what's her name?"

"Molly Hooper," John finally said. Sherlock sat upright on the couch.

"Molly Hooper?" Sherlock echoed. "Why on earth would you want to go out with her?"

John scowled and pointed a finger at him. "You do _not _get to talk about Molly like that, okay? She put with a lot of crap while you dropped off the face of the Earth and you should be worshiping her at her _feet_. Not everyone would have done what she did and you should be a little more _grateful._"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You are twisting my words and becoming defensive for absolutely no reason. I was not implying that there was anything wrong with Molly. Merely pointing out that you have shown no prior interest in her before so it is baffling as to why you are starting _now._"

John blinked in surprise. Wow. Sherlock wasn't being a complete git for once. Just a little bit of one. This was new. "I only went to Bart's to thank Molly for helping you-which I hope you've done, too-and I took her out to lunch."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "And that one lunch was enough to show your…_gratitude _for what she did for me?"

John scoffed. "No, of course it wasn't. That's why I'm taking her out tonight. There's a film she's wanted to see."

"So you're going on a date with Molly Hooper," Sherlock said slowly, as if testing the words out. John nodded in confirmation. "Are you going to try and _get off _with her, too?"

John smiled a little. "Well, I guess I'll just have to wait and see how the date goes. Won't I?" He didn't see Sherlock glaring daggers at his back as he dashed off to his room to get ready.

* * *

"My friend Mary has just moved to London," Molly told John conversationally. "She just got a job, but she's staying at my place until she can get a flat."

"What does she do?" John asked.

"She teaches. We're complete opposites Mary and I. She chose a job where she is going to be surrounded by people every day and…well, I'm surrounded by people every day, too, but they're just not as talkative as primary school students." John laughed heartily.

"I can't believe it took them _ten years _to finally come out with this film," Molly sighed. "I thought it was never going to happen with how often it got delayed."

"Maybe it was all for the best," John reasoned. "They could have had a completely different set of actors instead of the ones that are in it now. I mean-they almost had a completely different actor for _Back to the Future._ Can you really imagine the film with anybody else playing Marty McFly?"

"I thought the main character was Bilbo Baggins," an all too familiar voice said from nearby. John gaped up at him. He thought he had had this talk with Sherlock _long ago. _After the disastrous Chinese circus, Sherlock was forbidden to invite himself along on _any _of John's dates _ever again. _Most people would assume that was an unspoken rule, but Sherlock Holmes was _highly ill versed _in unspoken rules.

"What the _bloody hell_ are you doing here?" John demanded. Sherlock settled himself down in the seat next to Molly. He had _popcorn _and a _drink. _Sherlock _never _went to the cinema. Never. He had made several rants about how much he detestedit. So if he hated the cinema so much, why was he here?

Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion. "I'm sorry; I must have misunderstood when you said 'Sherlock, I swear if you don't get out of this bloody flat and do something I will strangle you with my shoelaces.' Although I have to admit even _I _am quite at a loss as to how I could have misinterpreted that. You told me to get out, so I did. Hello, Molly."

"How did you even know we were coming to see _this _film?" John asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Simple deduction. You said there was a film Molly had wanted to see. In the past few months before I returned to the public eye, whenever I had to stay at Molly's flat for a few days, she was always rereading a rather old copy of _The Hobbit_ and she had mentioned a fair number of times that there was to be a film adaptation. Judging by her excitement, it was safe to say that the film would be coming out in a short amount of time. After looking up what films were showing online and checking your browser history, it wasn't that hard to know what you were intending to see tonight."

"I have told you _countless times_ not to borrow my laptop without my permission and especially not to look through my browser history," John hissed. "Do you even _know _what the word 'privacy' means?"

Sherlock scoffed. "Of course I do. Privacy originates from the late Middle English word _privace _and means 'the state of being free from-"

"It was _rhetorical, _Sherlock!" John snapped.

"John, please," Sherlock said, gesturing to Molly. "Molly does not like conflict. It's rather rude of you to argue with me right in front of her. Never thought _I'd _have to be the one to teach _you _about manners."

"Teach _me?!"_ John sputtered incredulously. "Are you-?!"

"John, please!" Sherlock interrupted. "The lights are dimming. Even you know what _that _means." He put a finger to his lips and pointedly turned away to face the screen.

John would have enjoyed the film much more had he not been _seething _the entire time. Sure he had missed his best friend in the time he had been gone, but he was perfectly fine without _this _aspect of his return. All the progress he had made with trying to get Sherlock to act like a normal human being had obviously gone down the drain in the time he'd been gone. He'd have to have a serious talk with him sometime soon_._

"They never showed us what the bloody dragon looked like!" Sherlock complained at the end of the film. "All we saw was his _eye._"

Molly laughed. "That's the _point, _Sherlock. It's just a little teaser for the next film to entice the audience. It gets everyone even more excited for the next installment."

Sherlock nodded, rubbing his hands together. "Excellent, and when is the next film expected to premiere?"

"Next year," John said rather unhappily.

"Perhaps I can find someone who owes me a favour…" Sherlock mused.

"Or you can wait for it like the rest of us," Molly suggested. "How about I let you two decide where we're going for dinner while I run to the loo? I'll meet you both outside." John waited until Molly was well out of earshot before tearing into Sherlock.

"You do realise I am on a _date,_ right now, don't you, Sherlock?" John said venomously. "You _knew _I was coming out on a date tonight. You said it yourself. Why did you decide to invite yourself along?"

Sherlock looked genuinely perplexed. "You've had no trouble with me joining you on your dates before."

"Had no-Sherlock, I've _always _had trouble but you never listen-it's like I'm talking to a brick wall." John needed something for this headache. Or a strong drink. Whatever he could get his hands on sooner.

Sherlock huffed. "John, honestly. You are beginning to behave like a child. When did it become a crime to enjoy a film with your best friend and your pathologist? Molly will start to think ill of you if you keep this up and that won't help you _get off _with her at all. Now," Sherlock stood up, "I can think of several eating establishments nearby that would be suitable for _all _members of our party. Do keep up, John. I could hear Molly's stomach growling over the film and she does tend to get rather irritable when she's hungry."

* * *

John took all sorts of precautions the next time he planned to try and take out Molly on a date again. It just so happened that both he and Molly had a day off on the same day so he disappeared from the flat in the morning while Sherlock was in the shower. After he was some distance from Baker Street, he took out his mobile and found Molly's name in the contact list.

"Molly! It's John. Listen, I know it's short notice but I was wondering if you'd like to get lunch later today? There's a little coffee shop about halfway between your flat and mine. Would you like to meet up around noon? Great! I'll text you the address. I'll see you then. Bye." John was feeling rather smug. He had just outsmarted Sherlock Holmes. He even gave a young homeless girl ten pounds in his jovial mood.

John liked this coffee shop. Not only was it roughly halfway between his flat and Molly's, but it was conveniently rather close to his job. He had come here many times during his lunch break to the point where he was starting to be recognised by those working on the other side of the counter. He ordered his usual and then sat down at a table where he could easily see the door. Molly came in just a few minutes later, smiling and a little out of breath.

"Sorry," she apologised. "Sorry I'm so late. I just caught up in doing a few things around the flat. It's amazing how on your days off you look around and wonder 'how did this place get like this?'"

John laughed. "For me, the answer is usually Sherlock."

"Believe me, I sympathise. He was mostly out of the country this whole time but whenever he came back to London he would be at my flat. He gave me no warning whatsoever. I would just come home and he would be there. The first time it gave me a fright. Sadly, I got used to it. In fact if I were to go back to my flat right now and find Sherlock in my flat performing behavioural experiments on Toby, I wouldn't be surprised."

"Behavioural only?" John asked. Molly nodded.

"I think Sherlock really likes Toby, secretly. He also learned rather quickly while staying with me what boundaries _not _to overstep. Didn't stop him from being a _complete _annoying arse all the time, but our system worked while it was in place."

John frowned. "He doesn't restrict himself to behavioural experiments with Gladstone," he muttered.

"Gladstone?" Molly asked, interest piqued.

"Oh, yeah, I got a dog while Sherlock was gone. It was supposed to help with my depression and it did but now Sherlock is conducting experiments on him." John shook his head. "That man. Every time I think I'm finally starting to understand him, he throws me for a loop." He looked at Molly. "Did you want a coffee?"

"Oh, yes. I'll go get it." Molly stood up from the table before John could be a gentleman and offer to pay. Other than that, this date seemed to be going much better. No interruption from Sherlock, anyway.

His phone started buzzing in his pocket. Damn. Wishful thinking, then. Wait, no, it wasn't Sherlock. It was his office. Sighing in relief, he picked up. "Hello? Yes. Are you serious? Isn't there anybody else you could call? No it's just that I'm with a friend…I'm sorry. I apologise. Give me half an hour. Alright, bye." John smacked himself in the forehead. It was _just his luck. _He had a day off to spend with Molly and his _bloody job _needed him because somebody else was sick. Dr. John Hamish Watson was officially a bad luck magnet.

Sighing, he walked over to Molly, feeling terrible about having to leave. "Molly? I'm so sorry but the office just called and…yeah," he trailed off. Molly, to her credit, was completely understanding.

"It's completely fine, John. I know what that's like." Of course she did. She was a doctor, too. This probably had happened to her as well.

"I will call you later and we can set up a time for us to have dinner," John promised. "I have to make up for this somehow."

Molly smiled. "That sounds absolutely lovely." John wouldn't feel so guilty if Molly wasn't so bloody understanding. He cursed his luck and the world in general as he rushed back to the flat for a quick change of clothes and he barely made it to the office just outside the thirty minute time frame he had given himself.

"S-sorry I'm late," he panted to the secretary.

"Late?" she said, confused. "You weren't even scheduled to work today, Doctor Watson. It's your day off."

"I just got a call saying I needed to come in half an hour ago!" John argued. The secretary shook her head.

"I never made a call to you, Dr. Watson. Someone must be playing some sort of joke on you." John just blinked at her, speechless. This could _not _be happening to him. "Go enjoy the rest of your day off, Dr. Watson."

"_Damn it, damn it, damn it!_" John muttered to himself as he stormed down the street. He pulled out his phone and dialed Molly, getting out a few more _damns _before she picked up.

"You're not going to believe this," John said, laughing. People were starting to stare at him. He had just gone from raging to laughing in barely the blink of an eye. He probably sounded like a serial killer. "The office never called me. Someone was trying to be funny."

"Oh, that's _horrible,_" Molly shuddered. "I can't believe someone would do that." Then John heard another voice, a deeper voice in the background. "It's John," he heard Molly say, slightly muffled.

"Who's that?" John asked.

"Oh, well, you wouldn't believe it, John. Not longer after _you _left, Sherlock just happened to walk in! We've actually been having a nice chat over coffee over this recent paper one of my former professors published in a medical journal."

John could have _kicked himself. _The homeless girl he had given money to was part of Sherlock's Homeless Network. They were a smart bunch of ruffians. One of them probably had the skills to make it look like the call was coming from somewhere else; it was his own damn fault for not even realising until now that the voice on the phone and the voice of the secretary _did not match. _Was Sherlock conducting his own social experiment? Trying to see how many dates he could ruin before John attempted to strangle him in a fit of rage?

"That-that sounds great," John lied.

* * *

John had threatened Sherlock that if he were to interrupt John in _any way whatsoever _on this date, there would be severe consequences. Only real, immediate, rated at a ten on the emergency scale interruptions would be tolerated.

Although perhaps he shouldn't have even allowed him _that _liberty.

John and Molly had a lovely dinner and he was more than prepared to walk her home and charm his way into getting invited inside for drinks when his phone buzzed.

_Does your bed being on fire count as an emergency? It is out, now, but I thought I'd consult you.-SH_

John ignored the text. He could sleep on the sofa. However another, more alarming text arrived just a minute later.

_Considering Gladstone seems to be having a much more difficult time breathing than usual; probably just a side effect of inhaling all of the smoke. Would you like me to calculate his probability of making it through the night?-SH_

Needless to say that John was just a little bit more than annoyed when he came home to find a perfectly healthy and happy Gladstone, a bed in perfect condition and one Consulting Detective sitting casual by the fireplace.

"Ah, John, back so soon?" Sherlock said as if genuinely surprised to see him. "Tea?"

"I don't want bloody tea!" John shouted.

"So hostile," Sherlock commented as he drew his bow across his violin. "I wasn't asking if you _wanted _tea I was asking if you could make some. But if you're going to be acting like this I might just make myself a cup later."

"Do you realise that you have singlehandedly _ruined _my _third date _in a row?" John seethed. He was glad Sherlock was sitting down. He could stand over him and make himself seem a little more imposing, although such tricks rarely worked on Sherlock, in retrospect.

"You were upset about me coming along on the first date so I didn't come to the second or third date. How have I ruined them if I wasn't even there?"

"Don't you dare! Don't you _dare _act like you don't know what you did!" John spat. "You had your Homeless Network spy on me and had me called away from the coffee shop. And the stupid bloody texts you sent me about my bed being on fire and implying that _Gladstone _wouldn't live through the night. I just left Molly in the middle of our date _again_ because of _you._"

"The texts," Sherlock growled, pushing John out of the way as he stood up to his full height, "were just an experiment. People tend to get overly sentimental about their pets-especially dogs-and I had thought that you weren't one of those people. I'm very sorry to say I was wrong. As for the incident with the coffee shop…" Sherlock paused. "Well, I was just bored that day. You'll have to forgive me for that. You know how I get when I'm bored." Sherlock brought his violin up to his chin and started playing a melody that John had been hearing him play for a little over a week now. He didn't quite recognise it.

"No. No I'm not forgiving you for purposely sabotaging what could be a great relationship for me," John shouted over the violin. "You've been cruel to my dates and my girlfriends in the past, but _never _at this level Sherlock. This is _wrong, _Sherlock. Friends don't do this to each other. I have done _nothing _to deserve this from you."

Sherlock paused in his playing and scoffed. "Please, John. I'm doing you a favour. Clearly all this is a sign that any relationship you may have wanted to persue with Molly was doomed from the start." Then he went back to playing that same melody again.

"You don't believe in signs!" John reminded him. "You believe in cold hard facts, deductions, and working with your brain. Heart and feelings just get in the way and if someone has a _gut feeling _about something you wouldn't trust it one bit as a reliable piece of evidence. There's something behind all this; some _reason _why you're doing this. Honestly, Sherlock with how you're acting, anybody would think you're…" John trailed off as this truth slowly dawned on him.

Oh. _Oh. _Well that would certainly explain a lot.

Sherlock stopped playing the melody-that John now realised had only recently been composed and gave his friend a hard look. "That I'm _what, _John? Honestly don't start a thought if you don't intend to finish it."

"Jealous," John finished. "You're jealous."

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock said a little too quickly.

"You-you didn't like me going out on dates with Molly because _you _fancy her!" John realised. It all seemed so obvious now! "Sherlock, I wouldn't have asked her out on a date if I knew how you felt about her. Nothing has even happened on our dates between us, I can promise you that. So if you want a chance with her yourself-"

"Don't be ridiculous, John," Sherlock snapped. "A relationship would mean sentiment and sentiment is for the weak."

"So you're not sentimental whatsoever?" John said disbelievingly. "Alright, then, answer me this: how soon after you found out about my first date with Molly did you start composing that little melody for her?"

Sherlock glared at him, breathing heavily. After a few tense minutes Sherlock stalked past John and into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

* * *

There were two good things about breaking things off with Molly. The first was that there was nothing to break off. Nothing happened between them and as far as Molly was concerned, his intentions were nothing but friendly and their relationship didn't change. The second was that Molly had felt compelled to introduce one friend to another.

That was how John met Mary Morstan.

* * *

**Jealous Sherlock is jealous. Obvious references to the roles that both Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman play in _The Hobbit _are obvious.**

**There's only one more chapter left. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, added this story to your alerts, and favorites, it means a lot.**

**If you check out my profile, you'll see that I have an "Coming Soon" section now giving you a brief little blurb on what I plan on writing next.**

**Thanks for reading, don't forget to review!**


	10. Sherlock Holmes Redux

**It's the final chapter! Thank you to all of those who have read, reviewed, etc. Enjoy!**

* * *

Molly's brow furrowed in confusion at the knock on the door. Surely she hadn't gotten the dates mixed up for hers and Mary's girls' night. She specifically remembered marking it down for _next _Friday. Mary had also called her up in a panic about not know what to wear on her date with John whilst she was on her lunch break today. Yes, the girls' night was most definitely for _next _Friday.

The knock came again; louder, this time. She could think of several possibilities of who would show up unexpectedly on a Friday night. First on the list was Mary. She _was _supposed to be out on a date with John right now and unless something had gone horribly wrong (Molly had enough bad date experiences to come up with plenty of possibilities for _that _scenario) she didn't expect it to be Mary.

The second possibility was Lestrade. He did occasionally pop by with photos from a crime scene to get her opinion on them. Molly had a sneaking suspicion that even though she wished for the relationship to remain platonic with the Detective Inspector, Lestrade occasionally seemed to be hinting very strongly at giving a relationship with her another go. It was starting to make things rather awkward between the two of them.

The third possibility was Mrs. Hudson. Molly had made a point to have tea with her every so often while Sherlock was in hiding so she could answer any questions he had about her whenever he popped into town. The attachment he had to her really was quite endearing and Molly had managed to bond with Mrs. Hudson as well. Maybe with John out on a date and Sherlock being…well, _Sherlock_ she wanted to come by. But Mrs. Hudson would have called. In fact _everyone _she thought it could be would have called ahead.

"Who is it?" Molly called out as she peered through the peephole. She blinked in surprise at what she saw. What in the world was he doing here? And he actually _knocked?_ Molly was used to him picking the locks or pilfering her keys from her. Well, he was back in the land of the living, now. There was no need for him to sneak around.

"It's Sherlock!" he supplied. Out of all the possibilities, Molly had _not _thought of Sherlock showing up. To say that this was rather unexpected would be an understatement.

"What are you doing here?" Molly asked as she opened the door.

"John's on a date," he replied as if this should answer her question. Unsurprisingly, it didn't.

"Yes, he is," Molly said slowly. "With my friend Mary, I might mention."

"So is Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock added. Molly nodded.

"That's good for her! Is this one better than that last one with the mistress?"

"Mistress_es_," Sherlock corrected. "And no, not really. I don't have a case, either," he sighed dramatically.

Molly frowned. "I don't keep body parts at my flat, Sherlock, if that's what you're after."

"For the love of-_no, _that's not what I'm after!" Sherlock growled impatiently, pushing past her and into her flat. "From what I recall in all the time that I spent here is that when you didn't have plans on a Friday-which was most of the time-you would stay in and watch a film." As he spoke he removed his coat and scarf and Molly couldn't help but notice that he was wearing that purple shirt that had been the main focus of quite a few private fantasies that would make anyone blush. "Well it is a Friday night and we both have nothing to do so I showed up at the appropriate time." He threw himself onto her couch and Molly saw that he had remembered to take his shoes off before propping them up on her coffee table.

"This is a surprise," Molly remarked honestly.

"Just don't put in _Love Actually _again or I _will _leave," Sherlock threatened.

"That is a _classic,_" Molly insisted. "Besides, we're not watching a film tonight," Molly said, sitting down beside him. She turned on the telly with the remote and Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Then what _are _we watching?"

"It's the premiere of _Doctor Who _tonight!" Molly was absolutely bubbling with excitement. "The Daleks are coming back."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I don't understand how a robot whose only weapon is a whisk and a _plunger _is supposedly the most feared alien in the universe on this show."

"They are the most feared because their only goal is to destroy anything that is not like them; even if that means destroying the entire universe-which they've tried to do on several occasions. Think Hitler on a universal scale and a thousand times worse."

Sherlock was remarkably quiet throughout the episode, only speaking up a few times when something bothered him about the show.

"She's crashed on an alien planet full of insane Daleks and she's wasting all of her rations making _soufflé's_? She should have run out of milk and eggs by now!"

"Just keep watching!"

"See? Doctor Who just brought up my same point."

"His name is _The Doctor. Doctor Who _is the name of the show," Molly corrected.

Finally Sherlock remained silent. It was remarkable whenever Sherlock managed to remain silent for longer than five minutes during a show or a film. Molly still couldn't get the _Back to the Future _incident out of her head. For someone who was supposed to be dead, he had been terribly loud in his complaints that evening. It had taken a lot of effort to convince her neighbors that it was just the telly.

_It's a dream, Oswin. You dreamed it for yourself because the truth was too terrible._

_Where am I? Where…am…I? Where…am…I?_

Sherlock blinked once. Twice. "Alright, I'll admit it…I did _not _see that one coming."

Now it was Molly's turn to blink in surprise. "Say that again?"

"You heard me," Sherlock drawled, sounding mildly annoyed but the corner of his mouth was upturned into a smile.

Although quiet for the remainder of the episode, Sherlock seemed rather restless. Of course, Sherlock's default setting was stuck on _restless_, so it didn't bother her too much. Besides, he was not always comfortable being in the same room as others for very long. Just the very fact that he had come over to her flat willingly and sat through an entire episode of Doctor Who was strange. He must have been well and truly bored for the idea to visit _her _to come to mind.

"So the next episode involves _dinosaurs _on a _spaceship_?" Sherlock said skeptically. "Why and _how_?"

"Sometimes, it's easier on the brain if you _don't _apply logic to _Who_," Molly laughed.

"So should I come here the same time next week?" Sherlock asked as he began to button up his coat. Molly smiled sadly.

"I'm actually having a girl's night with Mary," she said apologetically. Sherlock nodded.

"Oh, well…that's alright, then. I'll just have to…I'll just watch it at my flat if I don't have a case." He knotted his scarf and then looked at her expectantly. He looked like he wanted to say something but for once-he was at a loss for words.

"Molly…" he began uncertainly. "Good night!" he said hurriedly and quickly vacated her flat.

"Sherlock! Wait-" Molly was cut off by her door slamming shut. "You forgot your shoes."

* * *

"It really isn't funny, John," Sherlock snapped. Despite Sherlock's insistence of this fact, John Watson was still bent double laughing hysterically. He was really beginning to regret answering John's question of _"How did your night go? Did you ask her out?"_ Yes, he really should have just lied to him. Of all the times to tell the truth!

"H-how far did you get down the st-street before y-you realised you left your s-shoes?" John managed to choke out. Sherlock scoffed.

"There was a puddle outside of her building's door. I never went down the street at all. Stop laughing!"

"S-sorry, Sherlock," John apologised, not looking or sounding very sorry at all. "So you didn't ask her out at all?"

"I _meant _to," Sherlock said, plucking at one of the violin strings. "I just…didn't get around to it."

"So being in Molly's flat made you nervous," John guessed.

Sherlock scoffed. "Please, I've been in her flat _plenty _of times."

"Yeah, when you needed a place to hide, not when you're trying to ask a woman you fancy on a date. If you want my advice: try again somewhere that's more neutral territory. Molly's flat is _her _home base and that would make anybody a little intimidated. Similarly, if she tried any romantic gesture _here _it'd be just as nerve-racking for…" John stopped at the look on Sherlock's face. Then he remembered. The Christmas party. Oh. Right. He had managed to block that memory.

"Bad example," John said apologetically. "Just think of neutral territory. It'll be easier on both of you." Sherlock shot up from his chair, a smile creeping up on his face.

"Of course, John! I'll try again at Bart's! In the lab! Or better yet: the morgue! I always feel more at home when there's a dead body nearby!"

John smacked a hand to his forehead. "Right, Sherlock, remember when we talked about how dead bodies are not an appropriate conversation topic outside of a crime scene or the morgue?"

* * *

Yes, coming to Bart's had been a much better idea than just showing up at Molly's flat. Here, she did not have the advantage. Neither did he. They were equals on the battleground, although Sherlock was determined to come out of this victorious.

Molly looked up and smiled when she saw him coming into the lab. Sherlock rather liked her smile, he decided.

"You look exhausted," Sherlock observed. It was the truth. Molly's hair was starting to become undone and dark circles were beginning to appear under her eyes.

"I didn't sleep well last night," she admitted. "And I'm a little behind on the paperwork so I'll be staying later tonight than usual." Molly sighed and rubbed her eyes. "I know what you're here for."

Sherlock blinked in surprise. "You do?"

Molly rolled her eyes as she began to gather up her papers. "I may not be a consulting detective but I _have _known you for several years now. So yes, I do know exactly why you're here." Molly stood up and looked him straight in the eye. Sherlock stood his ground. If she knew his secret, she knew his secret and it would make this whole business of confessing said secret that much easier.

"Your subtle hints the other day were not so subtle," Molly informed him. "There's a spleen waiting for you in the lab. Next time you want something you can just ask me instead of dancing around the subject. All of your moaning and groaning about how you needed a spleen for your experiment did not go unnoticed."

Sherlock nodded vigorously. "Oh! Oh, right! Yes, of course. Thank you very much."

"Well if you'll excuse me," Molly said, shuffling her papers, "I'm going to work on one of the computers upstairs. Just let me know if you need anything else."

She began to walk away.

Sherlock wasn't saying anything.

But going back to John and telling him he failed again was not an option. He was on a mission. One he would not fail this time.

"Actually, Molly?" he called out. Molly turned around, waiting for him to continue. "I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee."

A mixture of emotions passed over Molly's face. First there was shock, then disbelief, then she actually began to smile. He just hoped she wouldn't start crying. He wasn't mentally prepared to deal with that yet.

_Yet. _He had told himself he wasn't ready to deal with that _yet. _Sherlock was already mentally preparing himself for the day that he'd have to comfort a crying girlfriend.

Maybe he had hit his head a little too hard while on that case the other week.

Or maybe this was just him being _human._ Like everyone kept telling him to be.

"That sounds lovely Sherlock," Molly finally said. "Really, _really _lovely."

Sherlock sighed in relief. That had gone better than expected.

"I like my coffee with cream and two sugars. You know where to find me!" And with that, Molly turned around and walked out of the morgue, leaving a rather stunned Sherlock in her wake.

Perhaps this might be much harder than he originally anticipated.

* * *

**This is how I planned to end it from the beginning. I know many of you probably wanted a big romantic scene, but I thought it would be more appropriate to give Sherlock a taste of his own medicine. It shouldn't be easy for him after all the crap Molly has been through. Thanks for reading!**


End file.
